


Aftershave

by viceversa



Series: One Word [11]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mulder and Scully have a fight, one word prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-09-17 15:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16977312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceversa/pseuds/viceversa
Summary: Scully comes home from a rough day and tries to relax, but the words of her fight with Mulder come back to her and she can't deal with it anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

Scully walked in to her apartment, half defeated and half relieved that she was here alone. She needed time to regroup, refocus, on anything but her job and her partner.

Both things were intertwined, and for the past few weeks they’d both taken up 100% of her time. She was exhausted to her bones, mentally and emotionally drained, and it justified her earlier reaction completely. And rationality—rationality was definitely an element involved.

_“For the last time, no Mulder! I will not be running off with you to the middle of nowhere on some idiotic hunt for nothing!”_

_“But, Scully—”_

So she didn’t feel guilty, not even a little. Scully got her reward of a Friday night spent at home and the prospect of a relaxing weekend.

_“I don’t care about your source, I don’t care about the ‘proof,’ because just like everything else we do here, it doesn’t matter and it’s not real!”_

_“I don’t think you mean that—"_

Cleaning, shopping, doing laundry. Maybe she’d even make it to mass, which would please her mother. Maybe she’d have brunch with her too.

 " _It’s simply not worth my time, Mulder.”_

Maybe, maybe she could get a pedicure, or read that book Charlie recommended, or catch up on the medical journals piling on her coffee table.

_“So, I’m not worth your time, Scully?_

She could, uh, she could make a casserole. A meal plan for the week ahead. She’d been meaning to—

_“No. You aren’t”_

_Mulder was silent, shocked to his core. His mouth closed and morphed into a determined, thin line. “Fine. I’ll see you Monday. Have a good weekend, Agent Scully.”_

Oh, who was she kidding? She fucked up, she fucked up bad. Near tears, she walked to her bedroom and collapsed on the rumpled comforter, letting her shoes thud as they hit the floor.

Scully burrowed into the sheets and cried, let loose all of the pent-up frustration and rage and tension and sadness that had been building in her for god knows how long.

Deep, gasping sobs turned into sniffling, the climax of her emotions pushing her over the edge entirely. Her body hurt, her head throbbed. Makeup smeared the white pillow case, but she didn’t care. She had to get up and go to him, apologize, stop him before he ran off and got himself hurt.

She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself enough to move, but then caught a foreign, newly welcome scent in her bed. It was him, his aftershave. It lingered on the sheets, smelling of his warm, broad chest, of safety, of love.

Goddammit, she shouldn’t have let him leave, not like that. She shouldn’t have yelled at him, said that to him. She didn’t mean it. She should’ve realized her mistake and took him straight here, then he would be safe with her, they would be okay, they would be together.

The tenuous hold she’d had on her control flew out the window. She pulled his pillow close and burrowed into it, not crying but breathing him in, wanting nothing more than to be holding him right now. But she had pushed him away, and all she had left was the fading scent of him in her bed.

Then, startling her from a restless sleep, a familiar knock at the door. Mulder.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the much-requested sequel, finally! hope you enjoy

Mulder felt like shit. He probably deserved it. She was right, it wasn’t worth her time. Hell, the ‘lead’ wasn’t even worth his time. He was just, well, unsettled at the prospect of an empty weekend.

He’d be at home, alone, with nothing but his thoughts. He’d have to go to the Gunmen, or worse, he’d have to do laundry. Honestly, he’d probably end up bothering Scully anyway, so the idea that she could just be with him instead, even on a bogus case, was better.

_“It’s simply not worth my time, Mulder.”_

Mulder flinched at the memory. He should’ve known to not push it, to accept that Scully wouldn’t be coming along this time, to let her have the space she obviously needed. But he’d asked anyway.

_“So, I’m not worth your time, Scully?_

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew it would be bad. He knew exactly what she would say, just before she said it, through the flash in her eyes. He saw it coming from a million miles away and it still hit him hard.

_“No. You aren’t”_

Fuck. Mulder barely remembered what he said after that, he just remembered grabbing his things and leaving. He drove around for a while, contemplating driving straight to a bar and drinking the conversation away, but that wouldn’t solve anything.

He went home instead to cool off. He wasn’t angry, really, he was just upset. Sad. Anxiety was telling him _Told you so! Told you she’d get tired of you!_ and he tried to tell it to fuck off. Scully did pretty much tell him that, not in so many words. Mulder tried to be rational for a moment. It was out of character, but extreme events called for extreme actions—and anything that could mess with him and Scully? Well, he wouldn’t let that happen.

So, he sat. He took some deep breaths. He fed his fish, did the dishes, changed into comfortable clothing. Scully was upset this week, he remembered. She was wrung out, tired, frustrated, all of the above. She was probably really looking forward to this weekend, and he’d gone and tried to ruin it with something admittedly not worth their time.

Mulder realized, reluctantly, that he just wanted to spend time with Scully and didn’t know how to ask.   
The thing between them was new, and it felt fragile. All of the balls, including his, were in her court and she had the power to throw them wherever she pleased.

He needed to apologize. He needed to allow her a chance to apologize too, he thought. Despite their troubles here and there, Mulder knew her, and he knew that this would eat her up inside until she could make it right. In his gut, he knew, _he hoped_ , that she didn’t really mean what she said. That it was emotional. God knows he’d said enough stupid shit in the past to more than make up for this.

_Don’t make it personal, Scully._

He was bad at relationships. They got too real and he either got hurt or stopped them before he could get hurt. Maybe she was struggling too, trying to figure out how to keep this thing between them alive, but maybe she was stuck too. Confused. Anxious. That’s what he felt, anyway.

Mulder shook it off, shook off the whole day, and grabbed his jacket and keys. He’d allowed her more than enough time to get home and hopefully relax a little. They needed to talk.

When he got to Scully’s apartment he knocked. He was used to using his key, especially recently, but he thought she deserved and needed an announcement of his presence. He knocked again, after not hearing a response, and then let himself in.

“Scully?” he called and shucked off his shoes. He even hung up his jacket and put his keys and wallet in the dish, just like she told him on countless occasions. Mulder didn’t want to look like he was about to run away or be thrown out. He was here to stay, as long as she’d let him.

He found her in the bedroom, sprawled face first in the sheets and breathing shakily. God, he thought, his heart breaking at the sight. She’d been crying.

“Oh, Scully,” he breathed, coming around to the bed.

She looked up at him, eyes puffy and glistening, a pout on her lips. “Mulder, I’m,” she started, but her breath hitched and she shut her mouth and eyes, holding back an errant sob.   
Mulder crawled into bed next to her, on his side, on their bed, the bed they’d shared some of the best nights of his life in. He lay close, opening his arms just before Scully melted into him and the tears broke free once more.

“I’m sorry, Scully. It’s my fault,” he offered, trying to take her pain away.  
Scully shook her head against his chest. “No, I’m sorry.” Her voice was high and rough, coming in pants around her sobs. God, she couldn’t stop crying. “I didn’t mean it, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Mulder just held her closer, soothing her hair and her back, rocking her slightly. He was a little alarmed—Scully didn’t do this. She must’ve been really stretched thin recently, and he kicked himself for not noticing sooner.

“Shhhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He hoped he was doing this right, the comforting. He didn’t have much practice, even with Scully.

Scully just held him tighter, relieved and ashamed and needing to be close to him. It was going to be okay. All the frustration, the complicated emotions and doubts and fears, they all needed this release. She took deep breaths, slowly evening out and calming down. Soon she was able to breathe again, and she breathed him in, smelling his smells, of aftershave and pure Mulder.

They were going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> yay the pain!  
> thanks to @monikafilefan on tumblr for the prompt!  
> follow me there @viceversawrites


End file.
